


The Price

by theroguesgambit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, M/M, Magic Ruins Everything, Unrequited Love, sort of, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroguesgambit/pseuds/theroguesgambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To save Beacon Hills, a witch demands “the most potent, powerful emotion in one of your souls. The one thing that makes you want to leap out of bed in the morning, the thing that brings a smile to your face when you think nobody’s looking.  Your raison d’etre will be emptied and left void.”

Because witches are dicks like that, and they feed off things like intent and emotion and energy.

Everyone stalls, but they’re in crisis.  The town’s in danger, and they’re down to their last option.  Stiles steps forward.

“Take it,” he says, almost blandly. The werewolves amongst them can hear a fine tremor beneath the bravado. “You’ll be doing me a favor. I’m better off without it anyway.”

"Stiles…" Scott starts, but it’s done.

He seems no different afterward.  He still loves his father fiercely, he hangs out with Scott in every free moment, he flirts shamelessly with Malia and worships the ground Lydia walks on (albeit with more irony and respect and less blind, childish longing these days, but that had happened long before the most recent crisis).  He plays video games and reads comics and writes school papers on obscure topics to bother his teachers.  Every terrible price the group had feared and expected Stiles to pay seems unchanged.

They’re confused and worried and finally straight out ask him – did he have any secret hobbies or dreams they’d never known about? After all, it had seemed like he’d known what the witch would take from him.  Stiles laughs easily and says that he used to put on a wig and be a secret rock star in his free time, and has given up the music life since the spell.  But he doesn’t give a straight answer.

And finally, after days have passed with no major consequences looming, the group shrugs and moves on. Maybe the witch had lied; Stiles doesn’t seem any different, and he doesn’t seem upset about losing anything, so everything worked out in the end.

And if Stiles spends less time hanging out at the loft and arranging impromptu pack meetings, well, senior year is a busy time for a teenager.  And if he doesn’t needle Derek as much in a crisis… if anything, that’s a good sign, right? It means the pack’s getting along, it means less frustration for everyone, means that things can be handled faster and more easily.

And if Derek feels cold, like he’s lost something intangible and irretrievable and invaluable, he would never be able to explain why.

He didn’t pay a price; Stiles did. And Stiles is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to be more prolific and polish my severely rusty writing skills, I'll be writing drabbles like this whenever I feel stuck in one of my actual stories. If you want to be an amazing human being and help me out, send me prompts over at [MY TUMBLR](http://halekingsourwolf.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on adding more to this, but an anon wrote a request for a "the group finds out" chapter and I just had to do it.
> 
> This is not a happy resolution, people.

It comes out nearly three months later.

The group is relaxing together at the loft, eating takeout and enjoying a rare, low-key night in.  All’s well until Kira stumbles over a stray patch of nothing and spills her sesame chicken straight onto Derek’s chest.

It’s not exactly unexpected. How the girl can handle a sword with the grace of a samurai-ballerina but still can’t cross a room without stumbling over her own feet has been a source of many a raised eyebrow and more than one joke about her having literally emerged from an anime. So Derek just rolls his eyes, shrugging off her repeated apologies, and heads for the stairs, stripping his shirt as he goes.

“If I was still in love with him I’d be having such a silent freak-out right now.”

Derek nearly trips over nothing.

As one, the group does a slow-turn toward Stiles, who’s dropping his drink down onto the table and wincing.

“Shit. I did not mean to say that.” And he sends an embarrassed half-shrug Derek’s way, and looks back down at his noodles like that ends the conversation.

Eyes flit from Stiles to Derek, who stands, body taut with tension, nerves fluttering between shock and  _does he seriously_ and doubt and  _wait, what?_   Scott, maybe the most used to his friend’s random proclamations, recovers first, laughing nervously.

“Wait, dude. When did you have a crush on Derek?”

Stiles pokes at his noodles for a few more seconds and then looks back up, shrugging.

“It wasn’t a  _crush_ , it was more like… Ok, I guess it really doesn’t matter now anyway. It was more like this whole life-altering, all consuming love thing.” And then he smirks.  _Smirks._  Like his words aren’t tearing rapidly fraying holes in the fabric of Derek’s reality.

He shrugs at Derek again, like it’s a small joke they can laugh about together.

“Sorry, man. Awkward. But it’s a total non-issue now. Like, beyond not even being an issue.”

Derek feels strangely exposed even though Stiles is the one talking, finds himself dragging the stained shirt back over his shoulders.

“ _How_ is it a non-issue?”

Something like that, something ‘all-consuming…’ He’s a teenager; he’s exaggerating.  Or maybe the whole thing’s a joke. That would explain how Stiles is so calm, so blasé talking about it.

It’s a hollow thought. He feels his cheeks going hot.

Lydia’s mind is clearly going in a completely different direction, though. She breathes, sharp and startled: “Stiles, you didn’t…”

The ironic smile flits from Derek to Lydia.

“You guys knew I gave up something.”

It’s been nearly three months, and it doesn’t take any of them more than a second to clue in. Kira’s hand claps over her mouth. Scott makes a half-choked, whimpering sound.

Derek’s not sure what he does, but it makes Lydia’s eyes go soft and pained when she shoots a glance his way.

Stiles glances between them, brows crawling high up his forehead.

“Guys, stop looking like someone died. It’s cool, seriously. Feelings nixed, no crazy aftereffects. I’m fine.”

“You gave up your  _love_?” Kira breathes.

_Love._

The word hits Derek so hard he feels it rock inside him like a physical force. The thing that Stiles had given up three months back... he hadn’t gotten to choose what it would be. He hadn’t gotten to sort through his feelings and pick out the one that wasn’t that important, that he wouldn’t miss. The witch had demanded the most powerful emotion inside of him.

The most powerful emotion inside of him had been love. For Derek.

And somehow, when Stiles turns his gaze back to Derek without a hint of hesitation or tension, when he grins and rolls his eyes, expression asking  _really, what’s wrong with these people?_ it ends up being the last straw.

Derek’s in front of him in a second, grabbing his shirt and jerking him forward. Takeout noodles and chopsticks clatter across the floor. Scott makes another sharp sound but doesn’t intervene and Stiles stares at him, face inches away, startled and plainly baffled… and nothing else.

Something’s been missing for months, and he hasn’t been able to pinpoint it.

 _I’m better off without it anyway_ , he’d said.

Derek resists the urge to shake the slighter man, to rattle that bland look right off of his face. His voice comes out ragged.

“Was caring for me really that horrible?”

This is where the indignance would usually flash in those eyes, where he’d pull away or jab his finger into Derek’s chest, or lean in so close Derek could feel the warm puff of air as his breathing picked up, his heart pounding and his cheeks flushing but nothing about him smelling of prey.

Now he just sighs.

“You know what? Yeah, Derek. It was.”

The hand drops off Stiles’ chest. Derek takes a small step back, his heart grinding and clenching against the pressure of that casual indifference.

Stiles brushes a stray noodle from his shirt.

“I was a wreck, man. I mean,  _I_  was embarrassed for me. Every time you were in trouble or hurt, I’d feel like the ground was being ripped out from under me. You left town for a couple months and I literally went crazy and let a demon fox crawl into my brain.” He laughs. “I’d replay every stupid conversation we had for days afterward. I’d pick out clothes wondering if you’d like them, even if I didn’t think I was seeing you that day. Like… seriously. Remember when you said my shirt looked decent that one time and my entire wardrobe suddenly turned flannel?”

He’s barely worn flannel in the past three months.

He continues, cool and toneless.

“And I’d have these extended fantasies about you… and I’m not just talking about the Not Safe For Work kind. I’d think about just like… what it would feel like to hold your hand. How I could convince you to  _let_ me hold your hand. And… like, whether you’d be a total Grumpy Wolf in the mornings, all scowling and squinting against the sunlight. But I always imagined you’d be a morning person. You’d wake up ridiculously early to work out and have these awesome omelets waiting for me when I finally dragged my ass out of bed. ‘Cause I could so tell you love cooking. I mean your loft is practically empty but you’ve got a spice rack, really?  Or… Jesus, I’d wonder whether you’d want kids someday or whether the whole fire thing made you too scared to ever want a family.”

Derek flinches, and Stiles rubs his forehead. The rest of the group stands frozen around them, like they could fade away by just staying still long enough. Or maybe they feel like Derek: too numb, too shocked to think about moving.

Stiles looks like he’s embarrassed again now, like that’s the only feeling he’s capable of having when it comes to Derek. Maybe it is.

“I’m sorry, I just…” He laughs again, and the sound cuts through the air like sharp claws. “Can you even picture that? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be so totally gone on someone you know is  _never_  gonna feel the same way?”

He shouldn’t say anything. He  _can’t_ say anything. But it was not saying anything that had brought this about in the first place. Derek’s voice drags out, raw and broken.

“…I do now.”

.-

He flees the loft. He doesn’t care if it makes him a coward. He doesn’t come back until he can hear that it’s empty, and then he doesn’t let anyone in for five days.

Every member of the pack comes by at least once. Lydia starts out sympathetic and quickly turns to threatening before storming off, clipping her $400 heels at a volume Derek’s sure is designed to dig straight into his brain, a petty form of payback for locking her out. Kira leaves honest to god groceries outside his door, along with boxes of homemade cookies and containers of soup like he has the flu and isn’t just dying inside. Malia proves that she grew up alone in the woods by broadly sympathizing and then waxing poetic about how Stiles is really such a great guy, Derek should try not to be mad at him.

And Scott doesn’t bother saying anything, just sits against the door and lets Derek sink down against the opposite side. They find respite in each other’s heartbeats, silently commiserating over how oblivious they’d been, about how much had been sacrificed without either of them noticing.

The pack’s there for Derek, but he can’t bring himself to face them. He’d failed Stiles. He’d failed himself. And, apparently, he’d been so impossible to care for that Stiles had chosen to surrender his feelings instead of actually talking to Derek about them.

How the hell is he supposed to face anyone again after that?

.-

“Let me in.  Seriously, Derek, I’ll camp outside this door. You know I will.”

The door swings open just as Stiles is settling himself for a good long lean against it; he stumbles straight past Derek into the loft before catching himself. He doesn’t have a second to savor the small victory though, because Derek’s Glaring at him.

“ _Why?”_  There’s no give in the tone, just bitterness.

Stiles had done that. He’d put that there.

He sighs tiredly.

“There are so many ways you could be going with that question, Derek.”

“Why would you wait out there? Why are you  _here_?” Derek’s words are stiff and indignant, his stance closed. Stiles rakes a hand through his hair.

“Don’t turn it into that, ok? I still care.”

His brows lift.  _Do you?_

Of course he does.

“You’re still pack.”

He’d chosen those words carefully, thinking they would help, thinking they would make the distance between them easier. Pack is everything to Derek. It isn’t until he says it out loud that he realizes how much like “let’s just be friends” it sounds.

Derek’s brows come down in a hard scowl, and Stiles almost senses an echo of a feeling, a  _memory_  of a feeling. He remembers loving Derek’s indignant faces, trying to force them with jokes or jibes. Having a mental catalogue of everything from “I’m trying to look grumpy to hide how much you amuse me” to “on the verge of a murderous rampage; steer clear.” Remembers marveling at the way those heavy brows would reveal every emotion with just an arch or a twitch. Derek’s face had been a masterpiece to him once.

And now… well, it’s not like he’s blind now. Derek’s a handsome guy. But it’s all so distant, so abstract.

It’s such a bizarre feeling, to look at something that meant everything to you, and just  _not care._

“I love cooking,” Derek says abruptly, like he’s been waiting five days to say it, and Stiles feels some of the tension go out of the air. He grins.

“Knew it.”

But Derek’s staring at the ground now, and Stiles isn’t sure where to go from there. This should be easier for him – he’s the one who’s not invested. But somehow that just makes him feel wrong-footed. Robotic. How the hell can he have a proper heart to heart when his heart’s just not in it?

“…Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

That’s better. Questions, he can deal with. Especially such obvious ones.

“Come on. You were  _Derek_. You were this beautiful, older, impossible fantasy for me, man. And you barely tolerated me, and you’d had these girlfriends… I know, I’m sorry, but you had. What were the chances of you ever being the slightest bit interested in this annoying teenage boy you barely even liked? I mean, I can handle the occasional gut-wrenching humiliation as well as anyone, but that? You rejecting me? That would have destroyed me.”

Derek’s lips thin out, and he’s looking at Stiles now with something like bitterness and something approaching self-loathing. Stiles rubs at his neck, feeling awkward.

“But even knowing all that, I still wanted to be around you all the time. I couldn’t seriously think about being with anyone else because you were always there.”

“Past tense.”

Stiles pauses, shaken out of his ramble.

“What?”

“Every time you talk about me it’s in the past tense.”

“Well… I guess you’re kind of past tense to me, dude.” And he winces at his own words, knows they come out cruel and callous and he doesn’t mean them that way. Derek’s face does that thing where it tries to close off but there’s just too much emotion to hold in. His jaw goes stiff, his eyes bleeding hurt and loss. And betrayal.

He’d had a mental catalogue for this too – the scale of Derek’s stormy expressions from “make a casual joke and leave me alone for a while” to “I desperately need someone to hug me for six hours but I’ll probably kill anyone who tries to.”

Derek’s eyes haven’t looked this vulnerable since Boyd.

And Stiles  _does_ care, even if he doesn’t  _care._ Derek’s still pack.

So he doesn’t duck out, no matter how awkward he feels. He steps slowly forward and his hand goes up to brush Derek’s cheek, an echo of a gesture he might’ve one time meant.

“I remember being so in love with you.”

Derek’s eyes are open wounds. He takes a shuddering breath and leans in slow, and Stiles lets himself be kissed. Lets soft lips brush against his, lets five-day stubble graze his cheek as Derek clutches his shirt and kisses harder, a desperate, longing whimper breaking in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember that just three months ago this would’ve been something so much more than mildly pleasant, that three months ago that sound would have  _wrecked_  him.

His eyes open slowly as Derek finally draws back, looking pale and choked and shaken, searching Stiles’ face for something he can’t provide.

“And where am I supposed to find a witch to take this from me?”

Stiles draws a steady breath.

“Everyone was in danger, Derek. The whole town was in danger, even you. Do you want me to say I regret it? I  _can’t_ regret it. I mean, I regret that it’s obviously hurting you now, and part of me’s sort of curious if we ever would’ve made this crazy thing work but…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Someone needed to do it, and I did, and I’m fine now.”

“You’re fine now,” Derek echoes.  It could have come out bitter or ironic, sarcastic or doubtful, but Stiles senses that he’s actually taking solace in that knowledge.

…Damn.

Stiles made the deal and Derek’s paying the price, and he’s still worried about whether Stiles is ok.

They could have been so in love.

It’s an abstract realization: numb, distant, intangible. And for the first time in nearly three months, Stiles wonders if he really is fine after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, it's happened. I've proven I'm completely incapable of writing a drabble or even a short story. This idea's hooked me and I keep getting sucked back to it.
> 
> I really like the way last chapter ended, and if you did too you're totally free to leave off there and pretend that was the end. But life goes on and things get messy, and maybe this is what happens next.

He drags himself out of bed, body aching that good, sweet ache that only comes in a sweaty afterglow. He arches his back just to feel more of that burn, and grins.

Sex is _awesome_.

Now comes the less awesome part, because no matter how wrecked his partner gets during, Stiles has learned that he never has the decency to fall asleep afterward and allow a comfortable sneak out. Sure enough, once he drags his jeans on and turns, a pair of shifting green eyes are staring up at him, quietly expectant.

…Stiles really hates this part.

The part where he knows he should feel bad. The part where he drags his shirt over his shoulders, holds the other man’s eyes and says pointedly:

“I _don’t_.”

The familiar pain flashes through those eyes - even after all this time - before it smoothes out into something quieter. Acceptance. Derek’s lips tilt, a hint of a sad smile. His eyes slide closed and Stiles ducks out of the loft.

.-

“It’s not right, you know. What you’re doing.” Scott’s sitting in his kitchen when Stiles gets home, jaw set like he’d geared up for this. Planned out his Alpha Wolf speech about right and wrong and morals that don’t fit into a world where a person can lose control of himself if the moon hits him wrong, or find himself killing because the Japanese demon fox in his head tells him to, or wake up with one set of emotions one day and have them stripped away, the next.

Who the hell’s to say what’s right or moral anymore?

“He wants it,” Stiles says, dropping his keys on the counter, feeling a small grin tug at his lips despite Scott’s Disapproving Stare. “He wants _me_. It’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s hurting him _because_ he wants it,” Scott snaps back, frustrated and earnest. He’s always earnest, Scott. That’s why he never should’ve known about this.

.-

_It doesn’t start off slow, or subtle. They don’t find themselves falling into it without noticing or drifting slowly closer or any of that romantic, gooey crap. Maybe in another lifetime they would’ve; maybe in another lifetime Stiles would’ve savored every second of a delicious slow-build. But in this lifetime Stiles doesn’t have that emotion to spare for it._

_He’d sold his soul (love) to the devil (witch)._

_And when a bloody, dull-eyed and decidedly shirtless Derek grabs his sleeve and asks Stiles to fuck him, it barely even occurs to him to say no._

_Ok, it occurs to him, but it just doesn’t seem like a good idea at the time. Because Derek’s hot and lonely and needs it after this newest tragedy (Peter Hale was a dick but god, he hadn’t deserved to go out like that, and Derek hadn’t deserved to lose any more family, no matter how psychotic). And Stiles is a teenager and not exactly getting tons of other offers, and even without his lovey-dovey emotions intact it’s an objective ego boost that Derek Hale thinks he’s fuckable._

_It’s an even trade, really, for both of them._

_So he licks his lips and presses a curious hand against Derek’s abs, and Derek lets out a breathless whimper that shoots through Stiles and then they’re rolling into each other. The skin on skin feels so damn good and Derek’s gone when he wakes up, and Stiles doesn’t regret a second of it._

_And then it happens again. Or… almost. Both of them grinning and literally trembling with relief (well, Stiles is grinning. Derek’s face is doing that thing where it’s smooth and light like he doesn’t have the weight of all the world’s sins resting on his shoulders for just one second). Just generally grateful to be alive after this latest ‘what the fuck, that actually exists?’ monster that’d decided to infest Beacon Hills. Stiles throws both fists over his head and turns to grin at Derek and suddenly Derek’s against him, swallowing his victory shout and licking hard into his mouth. And there’s adrenaline flooding his veins and he’d been about a hand’s breadth away from dying and Derek’s this hard, solid wall of_ alive _right against him._

_He presses into it, dropping his arms to clutch those broad, sloping shoulders, and just as quickly Derek’s pulling back, wide-eyed and spooked and flushing, breathing out stammered apologies like they hadn’t already fucked less than three weeks ago so what the hell?_

_He vanishes just as Scott and Kira come jogging around a distant corner, both covered in yellow-grey monster goo and asking if the battle’s won._

_Derek avoids Stiles for five days after that, and Stiles goes back to his life. Until Derek shows up at his door, tense and looking pensive._

_“I’m sorry,” he says right away, shifting restlessly. “I shouldn’t keep… I know you don’t…”_

_Stiles is good with talking but he’s really bad with uncomfortable talking, so he grabs Derek and cuts him off by kissing him hard. Derek falls against him, warm and muscled and so pliant, a desperate groan dragging out of him. The sound twists something in Stiles and he pulls back, wincing._

_“I don’t… look, I don’t love you or anything, ok? I can’t. But Derek, you’re freaking hot and that one time was insane in a way I really wouldn’t mind repeating. So I guess I’m saying I wouldn’t be opposed to a little stress relief or celebration now and then. If you want.”_

_There’s no way he’s doing anything wrong or taking advantage or whatever, because he’s just making a suggestion. He’s giving Derek such an easy out._

_And Derek knows it when he hears it because he falls back, turns around and takes a few fast steps away, scrubbing a hand over his face. Stiles licks his lips and shrugs because, hell, it was worth a shot._

_But then Derek’s spinning back, breathing a ragged “fuck” and literally picking Stiles up, carrying him_ _inside and slamming him against the nearest wall, kissing him deep and rutting him halfway to coming before either of them remember to shut the door._

_And after that it’s a thing. An after battle thing, a break from research thing, a "Friday night after the date with that hot girl from English bombs" thing._

_And if Derek sometimes presses too-soft, lingering kisses into his skin or stops to trail his eyes down Stiles’ face like he’s in awe of it… well, he can’t be blamed for having feelings any more than Stiles can be for not having them._

_So Stiles ignores the way his gut writhes guiltily in those moments and grinds or bites a little harder, and then they’re back to fucking – hard, hungry, desperate and meaningless… Except for that one instant after he’s been licked, sucked and fucked to within a fraction of his life, when he’s coming hard, toes curling, when everything in the world is just perfect and_ Derek _, and he thinks he remembers what it might have felt like to be in love._

_It’s just physical, it only lasts about half a second into the afterglow, and after the heady rush is gone it’s just Derek again. Hot and pack and there._

_And who’s to say that isn’t enough?_

.-

Scott grabs his arm as he turns to stalk away. He’s not vaguely ready to have this conversation, but he doesn’t exactly have a choice with Scott holding him in place like he’s a pouting six year old. After he tugs once pointedly, ineffectually, he rolls his eyes and casts a cool look back at his friend.

“Look, can we really just… not?”

“I don’t know. Can _you_?”

Stiles grimaces.

“Dude, this is crossing all kinds of best friend lines. My sex life is so far beyond not being any of your business, ok? He knows what this is. He’s the one that started it. He’s a grownup and actually so am I, so just stop playing helicopter Alpha and let us make our own decisions, ok?”

Scott grits his teeth but drops his hand off Stiles’ arm, trusting him to stay and listen (and, damn it, Stiles does).

“I’m not _playing_ Alpha,” Scott says, low and steady. “I _am_ your Alpha. And more importantly, I’m Derek’s. And you’re killing him, man.”

.-

_They’re lying in bed afterward. It’s their fifth time doing this, and their very first “Stiles is too buzzed to go home and see his dad but too sober to pass out anywhere, so let’s go fuck Derek” time together, and Stiles is realizing fast that he’s a rambling drunk even after sex, and that Derek really needs to repaint the loft’s ceilings._

_“It’s the weirdest thing,” he’s saying, soft and thoughtful. “I mean… nothing about you’s changed. You’re still unfairly hot, and you’ve got this whole dry sarcasm thing that’s like, my number one obsession in a person. And you’re ridiculously loyal, and broody in this tall, dark, ‘come and solve all my mysteries’ kind of way. And every single one of those things gets me going like whoa. You know? But these days it’s just…” He lifts a hand, splaying his fingers out wide in the air above them. “poof. Like the same equation suddenly yielding a different answer. You mean nothing to me.”_

_He glances at Derek, sees him grimacing. And he feels a flash of embarrassment because… yeah, of course he’s grimacing. That was a shitty thing to say._

_“Sorry, my brain to mouth filter sucks, and these days I can’t really—“_

_He manages to cut himself off this time. He wants to say how weird it is that it’s kind of impossible to think about Derek’s feelings. They don’t compute in his brain the same way they used to, the same way everyone else’s does. Derek’s thoughts and opinions have so little impact on him these days, it’s hard to remember that the opposite’s true for him._

_But Derek’s swallowing, pushing himself up slowly to stare off at a far wall, and Stiles can see the sincerity etched in the other man’s profile._

_“No, you should… Stiles, keep saying things like that.  It grounds me.”_

_Stiles stares hazily up at him, nods. It stops Derek from falling into a fantasy, from thinking this is anything other than what it is. What it can’t be._

_“I don’t love you,” Stiles says seriously, and Derek’s lips twitch._

_“Thank you.”_

.-

_Fuck stupid teenage boys and their stupid, cheating “well, we never said we were exclusive, Stiles” excuses. Tyler wanted “not exclusive”? Stiles would show him not exclusive._

_“I don’t love you,” Stiles snaps, storming into the loft, tugging the door shut behind him and shoving Derek back against the refinished kitchen counter. Derek loses his grip on whatever spoon or spatula he’d been holding. It clatters to the floor as he clutches hard into Stiles’ hair, their bodies arching into each other._

_It’s been three weeks since their last time together, ever since Stiles had started seeing Tyler and had officially no longer needed a fuck buddy. Just three weeks, but Derek’s curling into him and kissing him like he’s been away at war or something and, god, it feels fucking good to be wanted._

_That is, until Malia comes hop-skipping her way down the spiral stairs all “Did I hear Stiles come—“ and freezes, gaping._

_Stiles shoves away fast, wiping at his lips._

_Well, his day had just gone from crap to worse._

_“Fuck, Derek. Mention there’s company?”_

_Derek’s cheeks are flushed, shoulders drawing in and eyes determinedly counting the floorboards. And, ok, maybe it’s not totally fair to be mad at him since Stiles had sort of stormed in and jumped him without much chance for conversation. But still, Derek could’ve just pushed him away or stopped him or something, couldn’t he? Seriously._

_His scowl falls away when his gaze lands on Malia. Cousins or not, she’s everything Derek isn’t – bright and innocent, and gets excited over the simplest things. She’s got a tough edge under it all (no one could survive in the woods alone for ten years and not develop some kind of a tough edge) but she’s still young in a lot of ways, still possesses this firm, naive sense of truth and honesty that could rival Scott’s._

_Which is how, despite his even request to keep things quiet, his best friend finds out about this less than an hour later._

_And won’t ever stop giving him crap about it._

.-

“Look, what the hell do you want, Scott?”

“I want you to be _Stiles._ ”

That makes him freeze. Makes his lips purse, shoulders go taut.

“…I am Stiles.” Flickers of nerves, of familiar doubt flutter through him. Scott seems to see it, mentally backtracks, and grimaces.

“I don’t mean it like... You’re still Stiles. I know you’re Stiles. You just… you’re not yourself when it comes to Derek.”

Scott’s eyes are wide and soulful, begging Stiles to understand. And he does, that’s the problem. His lips twist, sharp and caustic, because he can feel bitterness about the loss even if there isn’t much else.

“Because ‘Stiles’ is supposed to be in love with Derek.”

Scott sighs in a way that makes him think he’s missed the point after all.

“Because you care about people. You _get_ people. And now either you don’t see what you’re doing or you just don’t care. It’s… it’s weird to see you like this, man.”

It hits him hard. His fist slams into the counter (and he immediately regrets it, wincing).

“It’s weird to _be_ like this, ok? It’s weird to know there’s something missing inside me, that there’s this… just… Derek-shaped piece missing from the puzzle of 'Stiles’ heart'. And my _god_ never repeat that ‘cause it’s about the corniest thing I’ve ever said.”

Scott’s lips twitch. His eyes are still pained.

“I don’t know, dude. You’ve said some pretty corny things about Lydia.”

Stiles smirks back in kind.

“Right. The other great romantic failure of my life.”

“Stiles, think about it like this. If we were back in tenth grade and Lydia came up to you and said ‘hey Stiles, I don’t give a crap about you but let’s mess around anyway’ what would you have done?”

“…Checked her basement for pods?” But there’s a sinking feeling in his chest. He knows exactly where Scott’s going with this, and this time he’s sure about it. “And I would’ve jumped at it anyway, taken anything she wanted to give me. Because I was totally ruled by her.”

“And it would’ve killed you, man. Just… if you can’t think about Derek, think about that, ok?”

.-

So he tries to stay away. He seriously does. But if Derek’s not a matter of love to him, he’s definitely become an addiction. The way he’ll drop anything the second Stiles gives him _that_ look. The way he still acts tough and unaffected in front of people, but Stiles catches his eyes going to him too often, soft or hot and generally drinking Stiles in like he’s the most attractive, interesting thing in existence.

The way he grips Stiles’ wrists and pins them to the bed, holding him still and running thumbs down his palms in this ridiculously hot mixture of softness and domination. The way he always makes sure Stiles is taken care of without worrying about himself, remembering every kink and sweet spot like he’s got a goddamn guide book for traversing Stiles’ body, and he’s a _really_ eager tourist.

Stiles has been with four people at this point, including Derek, and no one else has come close to worshipping Stiles’ body the way Derek does. He finds himself getting bored during dates, wishing he was back at the loft with Derek riding him.

He knows he’s not in love. If he were in love he’d have stopped by now. And isn’t that some crazy, crappy irony… if he cared enough about Derek that he should be actually be doing this, he’d be willing to stop doing this.

As it stands, it just feels too fucking good to let go of.

.-

Kira’s holding Derek’s hands in a gentle grip, and Derek’s letting her. She’s kneeling in front of him where he sits perched at the edge of the low ottoman. Stiles can’t see her face from this angle, but her head is tilted, stance soft and soothing. Derek’s shoulders are slumped, his eyes down.

“You know you should.”

Derek grimaces, twisting his head to stare out the side window.

“Look—”

“Derek, none of us can even imagine how it feels. If this had happened to Scott, if he just suddenly stopped… I know I’d be a wreck. And it’s ok to let yourself feel that, ok?”

Derek squeezes his eyes shut, lips thinning. The fact that he’s not bolting says a lot about… Kira, maybe, or how much Derek’s started trusting the group. Or maybe about how much Derek needs a little bit of comfort even if he’s no good at admitting it.

“And we’re all here for you, and we want to help you. But you have to try moving on.”

When Derek’s eyes blink back open, they go past Kira and land right on Stiles, standing in the distant doorway.

“I know what I signed up for.”

Stiles grits his teeth and ducks out of the house.

.-

It’s Lydia who finally grounds him. He’d stormed to her house looking for some practical feedback, because Kira and Scott are too mushy and emotional, and Malia’s mostly taken Scott’s side on things ever since she declared him her Alpha.

She sits at her desk, running red ( _garnet, Stiles_ ) polish over her nails and listening to him rant, even though she probably knows the whole story already because girls talk or whatever, right? Lydia had probably heard all this from Malia before Scott did.

But she lets him rant, and that feels good.

“So I get that it’s not ideal for anyone but it’s better than having nothing, right? I mean, it’s not like Derek’s about to go make an OkCupid account and meet someone new, is he? So he could be alone all the time or he could be with me sometimes, and if he doesn’t want it he could just fucking say so, ok? And he hasn’t.”

Which seems like pretty much the most obvious reason in the world why this is ok, no matter what embarrassing analogies Scott wants to make to Stiles’ fifteen year old self.

Lydia spreads out her nails, eyeing them thoughtfully as they dry, and then shoots him an even look.

“You’re being a complete tool, you realize that?”

Last hope for an ally, dashed. He sighs tiredly.

“I’ve heard it mentioned.”

“Have you heard it mentioned that you’re screwing with an abuse survivor?”

That’s new. He stops pacing.

“He… Derek’s—”

“A survivor. A _repeated_ sexual abuse survivor.” She flips up one gleaming _garnet_ nail. “Kate seduced him when he was younger than us so she could kill his whole family. If that’s not abuse, I don’t know what is.” A second goes up, perfectly painted to match her perfectly arched brow. “Ms. Blake slept with him under seriously false pretenses so she could get protection against the Alpha pack. And now here you are, screwing him when you know he’s totally gone on you, when you know you’ll never feel the same way because… what, it’s an ego boost?”

A third finger goes up, and he falls back a step, feeling gutted. Because he’s not, he doesn’t…

Lydia’s eyes soften just a little, her hand lowering.

“I’m not saying you’re the same as them. No one thinks that. And don’t get me wrong, there’s no fault in looking for a good ego boost now and then. But take my advice, from someone who knows? Try to get it from someone you’re not going to destroy doing it.”

He nods, swallowing thickly because… he should’ve thought of that. He _would_ have thought of that, if it’d been anyone but Derek. But Derek’s this numb spot in his brain, and it’s just getting worse as time goes on. As the echoes of his old feelings, his memories of what it felt like to love Derek, slowly fade with time and disuse.

“I wish I loved him, you know.”

She sighs, shaking her head.

“I know, honey. But you don’t. So are you gonna be the guy that dangles hope in front of him until you find someone better and ditch him for good, or are you gonna be the guy who does the right thing?”

.-

“Nothing, nothing… damn it, _nothing._ ”

It’s been two hours since the Incident at Lydia’s, and Stiles is on his knees at the back of Deaton’s clinic, tearing through tomes of lore in a way the vet-slash-supernatural hoodoo expert probably won’t appreciate come morning.

He chucks away another book, but this one doesn’t hit the ground with a familiar, satisfying smack. Derek’s there suddenly, holding it and frowning at the cover. It's a new looking book with pretentiously old-fashioned font: _Wytchcraft & Wylle: Spells to Ward Against Spellcraft._

“New enemy we should know about?”

Derek’s here. Because _of course_ Derek’s here. He can probably smell Stiles’ frustration from miles away or something.

Derek falls to a crouch, expression going soft, dropping the book and running a thumb across Stiles’ cheek.

And Stiles stares at him, gulping unsteady breaths and wondering when he'd gotten frustrated enough to start crying. He flicks a searching gaze between Derek's eyes like he can find what he’s lost inside of them. Derek seems confused but waits quietly, letting him look. Because Derek would never deny him anything... and it would never occur to Stiles to give anything back.

“I _hate_ this,” he snaps, and Derek flinches. His hand drops away, and Stiles watches it fall.

“Stiles, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t…”

Damn it, he thinks Stiles is talking about _him._

“Don’t _apologize_ , Derek.” And Derek flinches again, looking small and confused. Stiles did that to him. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that he _does_ that to him with just an expression, a word. “Derek, I’m so not blaming you for anything. I don’t hate _you._ ”

Derek’s lips twist, his jaw tight.

“I know. You don’t feel anything for me.”

And there’s definitely bitterness there, now that he's listening for it. The others were right, there’s no way this is ok.

Derek's looking more pained by the second. Finally, he tears his gaze away, staring down at the books instead. And his expression goes from wounded back to startled as he takes in the titles. Stiles follows his gaze.

Love spells. Recapturing what was lost spells. Passion spells and reversal spells and…

“Stiles, what…”

Stiles rocks back on his heels.

“I hate this stupid void in my chest, Derek. The idea that this… that this could’ve been everything. You could’ve been the best thing in my life. But now it’s just…” _Poof._ He grits his teeth, raking a hand through his hair. “I hate being selfish. I’m not selfish, Derek, ok? I’m just not. That’s something I _know_ about me. And I know that me from eight months ago would fucking pummel me for the way I’m using you.”

Derek just shakes his head, looking at him like this was the farthest thing from what he’d expected. Like he didn’t even realize he was being used.

“You’re not… Stiles, I started this.”

Stiles huffs a laugh, throwing his hands up.

“Yeah, try telling anyone else that. It doesn’t matter anyway,” he adds fast as Derek’s teeth bare, a fiercely protective look flashing over his face. “That’s not even the point.”

Derek glances back at the books, brows furrowing like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. Trying not to get his hopes up.

“So what _is_ the point here? You’re trying to… to reverse the witch’s magic? Get your feelings back?” His voice has gone small, taking on that thin, vulnerable sort of gruff it gets when he feels like something’s too good to be true.

It usually is.

“...I wanted to feel what you feel, Derek. I mean… god, if what we do is this good when I don’t feel a thing for you, I can’t even imagine what it’d be like if I did.” Something flutters through Derek’s eyes, like he’s remembering just how good it is. To be with the person you love, however fleetingly. And Stiles finally feels a flash of something for Derek – jealousy.

“I mean, I’ve ditched dates to be with you, Derek. I’ve blown off hangouts with Scott to be with you. And every once in a while I think, well, isn’t that what love is? Wanting to be with you all the time? Maybe the witch’s spell wore off or… or I’ve learned to love you again somehow. But I haven’t, ‘cause do you even hear me right now? _I_ want to feel things, _I_ want it to be better. I don’t give a damn if you feel bad or if you hate me or if you’re even having a good time, as long as you keep letting me near you, keep looking at me like you want me, keep doing those _things_ to me.”

Derek’s eyes are going soft and desperate again, and it’s exactly the wrong reaction. Stiles feels his tongue dragging over his lips.

“And… you really shouldn’t, Derek.”

“Ok.” It comes out rough with emotion ( _emotion_ , damn it) and lust. And he’s so not listening. He’d let Stiles shove him down and fuck him on top of Deaton’s library if he wanted. Stiles could hurt him, humiliate him, do anything to him and he’d just take it.

It is so unbelievably unhealthy to have that kind of power over someone when they don’t have it over you back.

He looks down to the books again, trying to make the rush in his ears fade.

He’s not Kate Argent, he’s not Jennifer Blake. He’s still _Stiles_ and Stiles wouldn’t take advantage like that of anybody.

“Anyway, it’s not happening. The spell, the payment, whatever? It seems pretty loophole-free. Half these pages were already earmarked when I got here; the others obviously researched the crap out of love magic when this whole thing first went down. You could turn me into some kind of mindless love slave or amp up my lust, but we both know lust isn’t the problem. There’s a spell to drag buried emotions to the surface, but the witch literally sucked them away and ate them or whatever; there’s nothing to dredge up. We could try a mirroring emotion spell, but that would make me feel everything you’re feeling ever, basically turn me into a less buff Derek-ganger with no feelings of my own, so I’m thinking that’s a no-go. There’s… ha, get this, there’s true love’s kiss, but even if I believed in something like that I obviously don’t love you anymore, and we’ve kissed enough that it would’ve worked if it was going to.”

Derek’s staring at him in stunned silence. He clears his throat.

“So we’re where we were an hour ago.”

Stiles licks his lips grimly.

“We’re where we were.”

Derek’s eyes drag down his face, stopping at his mouth, going soft. A second later he’s blinking, looking away, pushing himself back to his feet.

“This is upsetting you.”

 _No, it’s upsetting_ you, _idiot._

But a flash of memory-insight tells him that’s not the way to convince Derek of anything. He presses his lips together, which Derek takes as a yes.

“Ok. Ok, stopping won’t be easy for me. I mean, I will, I just. I’ll… I can leave if you want.”

“Leave?” Stiles glances around the cluttered room. He wouldn’t mind some help cleaning up first, but…

“Leave Beacon Hills,” Derek clarifies, rubbing a hand down his neck. “It might be better. I probably should’ve in the first—”

“ _Derek_.” That thought hadn’t even occurred to Stiles. “Please don’t pull that whole ‘love something, let it go’ thing with me, alright? We’re both part of Scott’s pack. Like, super-essential parts. You know the town would fall apart or blow up or something without us.” And Derek needs the pack too so, ha. He’d just kept Derek’s best interests at heart, so take that, witchy feeling sucking magic. “You’re not running off, ditching your family over this. And… that’s not what I want, anyway.”

Derek’s shoulders had done that fast, tense-untense thing at the word ‘family.’ Now he’s staring at Stiles with familiar, wounded eyes.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

_I want to stop the awkward talking and fuck you._

But he doesn’t say that. That's growth, right?

Maybe not enough, but it’s something.

“We can’t keep living like this. If only ‘cause I think Kira’s gonna impale me at some point if I keep coming back to you.”

Derek looks away like he’s embarrassed, like it’s hard for him to accept that anyone cares enough to impale someone on his behalf.

Stiles had helped do that. Sure, a lot of it had already been there when they’d met. There are a lot people to blame for the mess of insecurities that is Derek… but Stiles is one of them.

“…I think maybe we should track down a witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter after this one, but I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with it. It could end happily or decidedly not so. I love these characters and I want them to be happy... but I'm not sure yet if this is that kind of a story.
> 
> Let me know what you think, loves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovely readers,
> 
> So... we can look at this one of two ways: one, I'm an awful person because I promised this would be the last chapter and it's not or, two, there's more story for you to read! So yay? (Hopefully yay.)
> 
> This chapter ended up running long so I decided it would be best to split it. The last chapter will be up soon but, until then, enjoy this:

It’s stupid not to just tell everyone. It really is. Because if the witch suddenly shows up back in town looking for trouble or worse (better?) yet, if everything works out and suddenly he and Derek are bizarrely, ridiculously, sickeningly in love again, then what?

Either way, the group’s going to find out sooner or later so there’s no reason to keep quiet about their plans. There’s no reason for Stiles to panic and stuff his research books under his homework whenever Scott drops by his room. There’s no reason to suddenly start flinching away from contact with Derek in public or avoid the group’s questioning looks or stammer out excuses that there’s no way Scott or Malia (or, who is he kidding, _anyone_ ) will buy for half a second anyway.

But for some reason, he does.

For some reason, he can’t bring himself to admit to this. To wanting this.

To wanting to have his love back.

Even inside his head, the words twist around and feel like something wrong. He gets shaky at the thought of it, the sight of Derek suddenly sparking feelings inside of him for the first time in over eight months. Now all at once Derek’s face is frustration, is nervousness, is guilt ( _you’re screwing with an abuse survivor_ ), is _anger_ (because he doesn’t care, and it’s not his fault he doesn’t care. He shouldn’t have to feel guilty for something that’s not his fault).

Derek's face is jealousy.

Because Stiles wants what Derek has. He wants to feel things he barely remembers feeling. He wants to want someone in a way that isn’t casual and isn’t just physical… And he’s starting to seriously feel like he’ll never be able to have it at all if he doesn’t fix this. No matter who else he’s gone out with, where else he’s tried to focus his attention, everything’s always come back to the same place. It’s Derek or nothing.

And the most ridiculous thing? He doesn’t even fucking like Derek.

He doesn’t, ok?

How can he? And how can he look forward to loving someone who means nothing to him?

He thinks maybe some of the anger starts coming out during sex, and he thinks that maybe Derek likes it that way because as much as they’re flinching and avoiding each other in public, groping each other has suddenly become a nightly thing, sometimes a twice a day thing, definitely a whenever they’re alone together thing, and once a “corner Derek in Scott’s kitchen and manage to grapple each other as far as the backyard before giving each other furious handjobs and everyone else pretends not to notice when they come back in smelling like sex” thing. They’re rough with each other, on the verge of being brutal, and isn’t it ironic that the minute Stiles announces that he wants to fall back in love with Derek, they decide to start acting like they hate each other.

Hate and can't keep their hands off of. That can be a thing, right?

Derek can barely meet his eyes anymore; the few times Stiles has turned his head at the wrong instant and caught him staring, it’s like Derek’s eyes are bleeding desperation and maybe doubt or fear or something else that falls on Stiles like a heavy weight… until it’s swiftly swept away, walled up, and replaced with a stony glare that’s as close as Derek’s able to get to blankness.

The love of Stiles’ life, ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes he seriously finds himself questioning his pre-cursed self’s taste level because… hot, broody, and emotionally stunted? Definite turn on, yeah. But falling in love material?

The group knows something’s wrong. Knows it’s something between him and Derek. But Stiles feigns ignorance when they question him, because what is he supposed to say? How can he say that he wants feelings he barely remembers having? How can he say that he wants to love Derek out of a selfish need to remember what loving is, at the same time that he wants to love Derek so he doesn’t have to feel selfish for sleeping with him anymore? How can he say that he resents this friends, every one of them, for making him feel guilty about not feeling guilty, for making it impossible to just take what he wants and enjoy it?

He doesn’t even know if he’ll want Derek when this is all over, after all the time that’s passed and everything that’s happened. He doesn’t know if he’s romanticizing what he felt, if it just was a passing crush or if he’s just at too different a place from where he was then for them to make sense anymore.

And if he tells the group, they’ll all expect a fairy tale.

Stiles has never believed in fairy tales, even back when he felt love. He doesn’t see this thing with Derek ending happily ever after, and his doubts grow as the days go on. But he wants… he _deserves_ the chance to choose for himself.

…And yeah, Derek deserves to know too. Closure if nothing else, right?

Stiles doesn’t talk to Derek anymore, not really. It’s handjobs and avoiding gazes and hard fucking when they have the privacy for it. And it’s cleared throats and hastily passed research, and fast mumbles of “there’s a rumor of someone matching her description over in Nevada, I’m looking into it...” and that’s if they can’t manage to avoid talking completely, sending most of their relevant information through texts or unobtrusively dropped notes on each others’ desks while the other party’s away.

Not exactly the most romantic way to start his quest to get back his love, but that’s why fairy tales are crap, right?

This is his life now.

.-

Until he comes back from lacrosse practice one day (finally on first line for senior year, and he remembers when that would’ve meant the world to him. But some feelings just fade naturally, he guesses, no magic witchy spells involved). Until he steps into his room and tosses his gear in a corner, and sees Derek at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, an open book at his side.

He’s still not looking at Stiles – he never looks at Stiles when Stiles is looking at him, like he’s scared of what he’ll see or what he’ll show – but his jaw isn’t doing that tight-angry-defensive thing either. He looks… uncomfortable, maybe, or uneasy.

Stiles stops in the doorway. His dad’s still at work, won’t be back until well after dinner. He doesn’t need to worry about pitching his voice low or pulling the door shut behind him before announcing, “Something tells me you’re not here to give the rising athlete a well-earned blow job.”

Something in Derek’s eyes flutters – a little heat, a little tension. His jaw starts to clench.

Stiles just rolls his eyes, strips his shirt off and tosses it into a corner, digging a fresh one out of his drawer. He still stinks of sweat, but it’s a little better now. He’ll shower once Derek leaves. Or shower with Derek if their conversation ends up getting too awkward. Assuming they start having a conversation at some point.

“What’s with the book? Find something useful?”

“I found a way to stop feeling.”

Stiles stops with the shirt over one arm, turns slowly and ends up dropping it to the ground beside the first instead.

“You… what?”

Derek’s eyes are shifting over the floor restlessly, hands rubbing against each other like he’s trying to scrub some sort of stain out of them.

“It’s just as good a solution. Some might say better.” He draws in a quick breath like he’s gathering courage, and manages to drag his eyes to Stiles’ for one searching second before he’s looking down again. “This is only a mess right now because I care and you don’t. If I don’t care either everything will be fine. Balanced.”

He feels his tongue drag out across his lips, a rush of heat flooding over him because… _fuck_ , it would be, wouldn’t it? They could screw when they wanted, not worry about it when they didn’t, and neither of them would care. He could have everything he wants from Derek and lose everything he doesn’t, and no one could say he was being selfish anymore because he wouldn’t be hurting Derek by doing it.

He clears his throat.

“That’s… not what we agreed to.”

And now Derek’s looking at him, actually looking at him. Steady gaze and carefully closed off expression.

“Is it what you _want_?” A beat, three, seven, while Stiles tries to work his way around his squirming not-feelings. The feelings he’s pretty sure he _should_ be feeling, a phantom-limb of giving a damn that sounds weirdly like Ewan McGregor telling him that love is a many splendored thing and he should be fighting for it, not salivating over the idea of Derek stripping his own feelings away too.

(They’ve been catching Malia up on important films at pack movie night, and Lydia does the lion’s share of picking because apparently she knows “what a teenage girl should and shouldn’t have seen” and also, apparently, pack movie night attendance is mandatory, which is the only reason why he’s thinking about this. …Stupid, tear-jerking musical Ewan McGregor…)

“It’s not what we agreed to,” he manages again. “How did you even find a spell for that?”

Derek presses his lips together, stares back down into his hands.

“You’re obviously not thrilled about... You haven’t told anyone, and you’re acting like… Look, if you don’t want it, that’s…” He chokes over the word _fine_. It’s obviously not fine, thus the apathy spell. “Just tell me, ok? Don’t feel like you’re obligated to do anything. Just tell me.”

Stiles licks his lips, crosses the room slowly. Derek flinches a little when he starts to reach out, but he just goes for the book, squinting over the outdated English.

“This isn’t anywhere near as refined as what the witch did. She took my love for you, specifically you. This looks more like it’ll…” Stiles grimaces, “…numb your ability to love at all. Romantically, at least.”

Derek shrugs, head ducking further.

“Like I said. Might be better that way.”

And it really might. How much easier would Derek’s life be if he didn’t keep getting screwed over by the wrong people?

He finds himself turning away, walking toward his desk, bookmarking the page before sliding it shut. Derek’s eyes are on him the whole time.

“I still want to fix things.”

Something snaps. That something is Derek.

“ _Why_?” He's pushing himself to his feet, his hands clenching at his sides, trembling. “If you don’t care about me, if I don’t mean anything to you, why would you want to…” His teeth grit. He looks like he wants to shove Stiles, or run.

 _The love of my life_ , he thinks again, sighing. He has such an easy out from this train wreck. Really, why is he trying to fight it?

“Because it’s not about you, Derek. Seriously, this is a hundred-and-fifty percent about me. I'm stuck in this whole screwed up ‘you’re hot and I should love you because I remember loving you and everyone’s telling me I should love you’ cycle and I just… I need to _know_ what I want. I need to be able to feel what I want, make that decision for myself. Do you get that?”

Derek stares at him way too long after that, long enough that Stiles rolls his eyes and turns to drag his backpack over to his desk, kick his dirty laundry into a slightly more sensible pile in his corner.

Derek’s voice floats over, a little thin, almost a full minute later.

“The apathy spell’s a backup then. In case we can’t…”

Can’t find the witch, convince her to help. In case it’s impossible to get the feeling back at all anyway. Hell, chances are looking pretty good that next month will see Stiles and Derek fucking each other senseless without a care in the world, shrugging past each other like strangers when they meet on the sidewalk.

…Would Derek even come to Stiles if he didn’t love him? It’s not exactly like Stiles looks the way Derek does. If there aren’t feelings tying Derek to the awkward, often-flailing, squishy, human teenager that is Stiles, will he get any of Derek at all?

Selfishly (everything’s selfish when it comes to Derek) he finds himself suddenly hating the idea.

“Sounds like a plan,” he grits out. “So where do you stand on shower—”

But Derek’s gone when he turns.

A second later he’s pulling the book back open, ripping out the apathy spell and shredding it.

.-

“Are you serious, dude?”

He tells Scott the next day. Derek’s right; it’s weird that he hasn’t. It’s also just as weird as he thought it would be to explain any of this out loud. Scott’s staring at him like he’s grown a new head.

Which is one of the few things none of them have actually seen at this point.

“I mean… you are serious, right? Because if you say something like that and you’re not serious, it’s gonna—”

“Kill Derek, I know.” He rolls his eyes. “Remember back when you were _my_ best friend?”

“I am your best friend,” Scott says, soft-eyed and serious. “And part of that’s looking after the things you care about, especially when you can’t.”

.-

Research isn’t going well. Their leads are turning up dry, even now that everyone in the pack is unobtrusively dropping research off on his desk or in his locker.

Derek hasn’t been around in days. Stiles stops by the Jungle, spends a night grinding up against sweaty, groping strangers, then goes home and jerks off to the memory of Derek’s mouth on him.

If the damn witch can’t give him his love back, maybe she can at least take away his lust, too.

.-

“Really though,” Stiles snaps, slamming his calc book shut and earning a hard look from the school librarian. “I mean, this whole thing is supposed to be super important to Derek or whatever, right? You think he’d be more… I don’t know, invested in the research.”

It’s been four days since he’s heard from Derek. Even the random notes appearing on his desk have stopped coming.

“Dude,” Scott rolls his eyes and casts a glance over to the girls at the other end of the table, who are all doing that thing where they’re listening in without looking like they’re listening. Except for Lydia, of course, who doesn’t seem to care if the boys know she’s eavesdropping. “He’s wigging out. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Stiles echoes. “It’d be nice if he could wig in a _helpful_ way, though. I can like… _feel_ his eyes itching on me sometimes but I can’t ever spot him, you know? It’s like we’re back in the Early Days of Derek, when he was just this terrifying creeper lurking around the school and stalking you at lacrosse.”

Scott grimaces at the reminder. He’d been as weirded out by early Derek as Stiles had been. …Maybe not _quite_ as weirded out since Scott’d had the Allison Distraction, and because he hadn’t had to deal with increasingly Derek-centric wet dreams about being shoved into walls and pinned and _scented_ —

Lydia tilts her head, leaning across the table.

“And do you remember what he was going through back then?”

“Ok, so now we’re comparing me getting my love back to his sister dying, and being hunted by a rogue Alpha.” Stiles leans back, fingers drumming across the second book, the definitely-not-Calculus book ( _Locator Spells, Located Here_ ) sitting in front of him. “Sometimes I wonder why the hell I’m bothering.”

Kira abandons all pretense of studying and looks up, pushing her hair back behind one ear, expression quietly serious.

“You know it’s not you caring about him he’s scared of. He’s trying to brace himself in case it’s not possible. He's trying to close off now so it doesn't hurt as much later.”

Stiles has the decency to feel a little bit bad about shredding the apathy spell.

.-

Stiles tracks Derek down at the loft after school. He drops his bag and closes in fast, ignoring the way Derek's jaw goes tight and his shoulders tense up at the sight of him. He grabs Derek’s belt and has his pants half undone by the time the other man gets enough control back to growl out a warning “ _Stiles_ …”

“Fuck you, Derek. I’m not letting you check out on this now. We alone?”

Derek nods, looking cornered. Hunted.

_Good._

Stiles’ hand slips into Derek's jeans, palms him roughly. His eyes flutter.

“Stiles,” he starts again, tense and nervous like they’ve never done this before. Like they haven’t been doing this _constantly_. But he doesn’t fight the motion as Stiles backs him up against a wall - he’s gonna need a wall when Stiles is done with him – and kneels down deliberately in front of him.

“What are you…”

“Don’t be stupid, Derek. You’ve done this for me enough times.”

He’s never bothered being on the giving end of this with Derek before, though. It’s honestly never occurred to him. BJs are more about pleasuring the other person, about getting off by getting _them_ off. That’s never exactly been a priority for Stiles.

And nothing’s changed, not really. Except now he’s gone a few days without Derek, now he knows what it might feel like for Derek not to want him. Ever since this started it’s just been a given that he does. That he _will_ , no matter what.

And he wants Derek to want him. Wants him to be raw with it, scrambling. Helpless to say no.

He wants to be wanted.

It’s not love. It’s definitely not healthy.

And when Derek comes gasping, knees buckling, leaning back against the wall like he can barely stay upright, when he blinks hazy eyes and stares at Stiles like he never wants to look away, when he grips the front of his shirt and whines against his lips and breathes "yes" to Stiles' throaty " _mine_ "...

…He realizes he’s starting to scare himself.

.-

A figure steps out of a stray patch of shadow. Stiles was on the way out from the Sheriff’s station after bringing his dad dinner, making his way up the street to where he’d parked his Jeep. It's an average night; a strangely average night, honestly. He should’ve expected something like this to happen.

He doesn't get "average" that often in his life.

So when the figure shifts out into the light of the street lamp Stiles stops short, stares for way too long, and then bursts out laughing.

“You know what? Honestly, I’m not even surprised.”

Peter Hale smiles.

He’s standing casually, hands clasped behind his back, his hair longer than it was the last time Stiles saw him. That time when he’d died, been immolated for the _third_ time, this time by blinding-white fae-fire that burned so hot there’d been nothing left for Malia and Derek to bury.

That really should’ve been their first clue, huh? Never trust anything when it comes to Peter.

Stiles shakes his head.

“So what was your grand plan this time, huh?”

“No grand plan,” he answers, voice light and hushed and far too pleased with himself. His teeth gleam white and a touch too sharp as he grins. “I just needed to get away. Realized the whole fathering thing wasn’t really for me after all.”

Stiles snorts. Like anyone _ever_ couldn’t have told him he wasn't dad material. Still.

“You’re an incredible bastard, you know that? After all the effort you put into finding her?”

He shrugs, pacing a step toward Stiles, coming up alongside his Jeep.

“Well, try anything once.”

It’s so pointedly nonchalant that Stiles finds his hands clenching, finds himself digging around for something else to try and pull a reaction from him.

“Do you have any idea what you did to Derek?”

And the frustration in his tone doesn't even need to be forced, because that’s when this whole mess _really_ started. Sure, the price had been paid before that, and Derek and the others had learned what Stiles had given up by then, but it wasn’t until Peter’s death that Derek had been vulnerable enough to act on it.

Peter’s eyes are dancing in the darkness.

“Oh, it seemed like you were handling my nephew well enough in my absence.”

Stiles mimes a gag.

“That sounded unbelievably creepy, you know that?”

Everything the bastard says sounds creepy. Or syrupy-sweet and mocking, which is what he switches over to now.

“And is that _caring_ I hear for dear Derek? Have you been cured of the witch’s evil curse in my absence? Are you both free to resume your nauseating saga of will they, won’t they and stolen glances?”

It makes him grimace.

“…Not yet.”

Peter’s brow quirks.

“ _Yet_? But you want to.”

And is this seriously even happening right now?

“Did you really come back from the dead to chat about my love life? Shouldn’t we be talking about, I don’t know, how you’re alive or something?”

“I was owed a favor,” he says like it’s nothing. And Stiles is pretty sure he’s never planning on giving anything clearer than that. "But now I come back to town and find that you’re thinking about changing your situation. Even though you have the easiest out imaginable, with a heroic sacrifice backing you and everything. No one can possibly blame you, and you can go on living your life without the heartache and misery sure to come from loving a Hale.”

Stiles stares at him for a long second, then twists his body, looking left and right like he’s trying to see something just out of view. Peter frowns.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, just trying to find the angel on my other shoulder. Pretty sure you guys are supposed to come in pairs.”

“You’ve considered this already.”

“What, am I an idiot? Don’t answer that. Of course I’ve considered it. And it seems like an awesome idea like five-sixths of the time.”

“And yet you’re still hunting the witch.”

He remembers the sick satisfaction of feeling Derek cling to him, sweaty and dazed and desperate for more. Of knowing he could drop him at any second and feel nothing more than the discomfort of an itch not being scratched.

He remembers feeling like Kate fucking Argent.

(And Stiles _isn’t like that_. Except, apparently, some part of him is.)

“That one-sixth is a pretty persistent bitch to shake.”

Peter watches him silently, and Stiles had forgotten that narrow-eyed, searching look was a Hale family trait. He shifts under it, starts to scowl until…

“Well, alright, then.”

And Peter crosses the last step over to Stiles’ Jeep, pulls the door open (it’d been _locked_ , damn werewolves), and drags a woman out by the nape.

Her hands are bound, her mouth gagged. She’s unconscious.

They’re twenty yards from the freaking police station and Peter’s brought a hostage and stuck it in Stiles’ Jeep.

About two seconds later, after that shock wears off, Stiles realizes what he probably should’ve noticed in the first place: the hostage is the witch.

She’s younger than his memory made her out to be: no hideous warts, crow’s feet or cackling (though that last bit might have been because of the gag. Or, you know, the fact that she's unconscious).

Stiles stares until Peter, smiling, shoves her back into the car. When he looks up, he’s feeling shaky.

“That was a test?”

“And you performed admirably. Consider this an early wedding present for you and my dear nephew.”

The mocking tone’s enough to keep Stiles from flinching at the words. Peter doesn’t believe in fairy tales either.

But he still thinks it's worth it to break the spell.

“But how did you…”

“Find her? Simple. Well… no. Let’s not downplay my heroics. It was nearly impossible. It turns out witches aren’t exactly fans of being hunted any more than the rest of us are. I narrowly avoided being turned into a spotted toad several times, I’m sure.”

“ _Why_?”

He shrugs, lips tugging while Stiles gapes.

“My nephew’s always been led by his emotions. It’s a tiresome trait and, honestly, you’d think he’d have learned better by now. But he’s got his sights set on you, and I knew he’d become more insufferable than usual until you two cemented your sappy love story, so…”

“You care.” Stiles stares for a second, then barks out a laugh. “Ha, I _knew_ you cared. All you Hales are way mushier than you let on, you know that?”

Peter’s eyes roll.

“I owed him a happy ending or two. Let’s say my debt’s paid.”

He shoves the car door shut, falls back a step. Like he’s just planning on walking away now that his delivery’s been made.

“Wait,” Stiles follows him forward. “So are you back now?”

“I think not. This town is a tether I need to break free of. And once you’re cured I’m sure it will become even more unbearable than before.”

Stiles snorts.

“Aw, you think I’m bearable.”

“Decidedly more so than when you end up with hearts in your eyes and start changing all your passwords to ‘Derek’.”

His grin falls away, gut twisting nervously. That’s not going to happen, is it? He’s still going to be _him_. He’d been in love with Derek before and he hadn’t gone all Scott 2.0 about it.

Peter turns, and Stiles steps forward again.

“If you wanted to leave town to look for the witch, why not just go? Why the elaborate death scene?”

His head turns, Stiles catches the silhouette of a smirk.

“Two birds with one stone, Stiles. Always aim for two birds.” He stops walking, waits while Stiles thinks. While he licks dry lips, nods slowly.

“So I guess you want this to stay our little secret, then. You don’t want me telling the others you’re alive.”

“You aren’t exactly free if your tethers come looking for you.”

He nods again. Hears himself say, faint and hesitant: “You don’t have to break free, you know. You could have a place here.”

Peter only laughs.

“Touching, Stiles. Save some of that passion for my nephew, alright? And... be careful. You might find that caring's as much of a curse as what you have now.”

His hand lifts, he sinks back into the nearest shadow, and just like that he’s gone. Stiles stares at the empty street for nearly a full minute, then turns to look at the bound, unconscious witch.

“Did that seriously just happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Stiles is getting increasingly messed up, sorry! I do love torturing my babies, and having that much emotional control over another person would screw with anyone's head eventually. He is still Stiles; he's just on a little bit of a power trip.
> 
> And Peter's alive, and our boys finally have the witch! But will they get their happy ending?
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone for your feedback, I love hearing from you! Next chapter will, cross my heart, be the last one.


	5. Chapter 5

_An echo._

_A moment._

_A goodbye._

_Stiles draws a quiet breath – fear and eagerness and yeah, why the hell not? – and nods._

_“Do it.”_

.-

It’s not that Derek doesn’t want to believe it. And it’s not even that he _doesn’t_ believe it. It’s just that… how the hell is he _supposed_ to believe that, after all this time, something’s finally going right?

His phone starts to go dark and he thumbs the screen again, staring down at the message like it’ll change if he looks away, turn into something different, suddenly _mean_ something else.

I have her. Bringing her to the loft.

It’s short. Vague. It could mean anything… except that it doesn’t. After weeks of fruitless searching suddenly, impossibly, Stiles just _has_ her.

It could be a joke. Stiles knows better than to do something like that, but what Stiles knows better than to do and what Stiles actually does don’t always go together. Especially these days. Especially concerning Derek.

It’s a joke. It’s easier to prepare for a joke – for Stiles being unintentionally cruel – than to let himself hope for the improbable.

Derek’s hands clench the battered surface of the table as the rest of the group starts to filter in: Scott catching his eyes and nodding with a shaky sort of smile that would echo Derek’s feelings perfectly if he wasn’t forcing himself to think _joke joke it’s just a joke_ ; Lydia and Malia coming in together, expectant and excited respectively. When Kira gets there she barrels across the room and wraps Derek in a firm hug before pulling back shyly, murmuring, “We’re here for you, you know, whatever…”

Somehow, that’s what makes it real. Stiles might be cruel to Derek, but he wouldn’t do this to the rest of them.

There’s a lump in his throat and he suddenly can’t meet anyone’s eyes. He falls back from the table, from the phone and the text he’s been compulsively refreshing for the past twenty minutes, retreating to sit on the stairs, hands clasped.

They settle into an uncomfortable silence, and wait for Stiles and the witch.

.-

Despite his assurances to Peter, Stiles finds himself circling the streets aimlessly for about half an hour before he finally pulls to a stop outside Derek’s loft (and even now, it’s more because the witch has started twitching in the backseat than because he’s really come to terms with anything).

Which is weird, because he thought his mind was pretty much made up already.

He doesn’t get out of the car. Doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as take his hands off the wheel until Scott comes out and asks why he’s not coming up.

He feigns a smile he doesn’t feel, nodding toward the backseat, and says he’s been waiting for some big, strong werewolf to come and carry her up for him.

Scott smiles back and, for a second, Stiles thinks he’s going to get away with it. But then Scott’s clasping his shoulder and saying “It’ll be ok, man. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. ”

“Yeah,” he grins back, too brightly. “I’m cool. Getting my feelings back, right? Rebooting to Stiles 1.0. What’s there to be nervous about?”

.-

Apparently, nothing.

Because that’s what’s happening.

It had been such a battle to get this far, Stiles hadn’t given too much thought to it just _not happening._

The witch is still bound, no longer gagged, sitting in a flat-backed chair and staring around the pack more like she’s confused by her predicament than anything.

“The price was agreed upon,” she says slowly, like they’re school children (which, ok, most of them are. But like, little ones. The kind who need to walk in two straight lines down the halls and don’t grasp that just because something smells good, doesn’t necessarily mean you should eat it). “And it has been paid.”

She’s definitely not as malicious as Stiles’ memories made her out to be… which makes sense, really, since she’d been the one who helped them save the town all that time ago and all. Still, she’s spent the better half of the past year just being “that b… uh, _witch_  who messed with Stiles’ heart” so he guesses it’s understandable that they ended up in this place.

The “crossed arms and glaring and tying her up and generally treating her like a prisoner,” place.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, because he has to be the one to say it, “and now we’re asking for a refund. Sorry, size doesn’t fit, color doesn’t match my eyes, and I’m not taking store credit so don’t even try.” _It’s screwing with my brain and turning me into someone that freaking scares me_ goes unsaid, but might filter through in the tension in his tone.

She frowns slightly, actually seems sympathetic, as her gaze floats around the room to finally land on Derek. He’s still perched over on the stairs, where he’s been all evening, hands clenching, jaw tight as he frowns down at his knees determinedly. The only time he moved since Stiles walked in was to get up, grab some duct tape and shove it in Scott’s hands before returning to his perch. He hasn’t met anyone’s eyes once, and it’s starting to drive Stiles crazy.

“It was for that one, wasn’t it?” Finally Derek’s eyes flick up. He looks like he’s physically clamping down on a snarl. She only smiles faintly, distantly, watching him with unfocused eyes like she’s seeing something other than his face. “I see. You didn’t realize it was returned.” Then she’s looking back to Stiles, a brow arching. “But I don’t see why this affects our bargain. I do clean work; I plucked your emotions out by the roots. His feelings should have no bearing on your own. So break ties and move on. The price has been paid.”

.-

Derek can’t stand the weight of all the eyes sliding to him. The pity, the bland nonchalance. He’s not sure which is worse.

He leans down further, squeezing his eyes shut, holding himself back from running. He needs to keep it together.

Ultimately, they’re all gathered here for him. Whatever Stiles says he wants, the witch is right: he can’t care either way. If this doesn’t work, he’ll be able to shrug and move on. The rest of the group is only invested in this because Derek’s making it a problem. The witch has been brought back and Stiles is questioning his sacrifice all because of how Derek feels, because he can’t control himself, can't stop from responding when Stiles comes to him.

He’s been making a mess of things for months, now.

“Then _unpay_ it,” Scott’s saying, stepping forward. “It wasn’t fair to ask that from him in the first place.”

“But he agreed regardless,” the witch’s voice is smooth and toneless. Derek wonders if the tape on her wrists is trapping her at all; she certainly doesn’t sound like someone being detained against her will. The thought forces him to look back up, and he finds her watching him evenly. “This is the way things are now. You should accept it. You’re only hurting yourselves by attempting otherwise.”

“We’re pack,” Stiles cuts in coolly. If his voice were a little higher he would sound just like the witch. “There’s no ‘moving on’ here. We’ve got to deal with this somehow, and you’re going to help us.”

“So you wish to rescind our previous bargain? Sacrifice the town?”

That stalls everyone.

Stiles backs up a step, glancing at Scott. Derek finds himself rising, his gaze caught on the witch.

“So those are our options? We take back Stiles’ feelings and you’ll destroy the town out of spite?”

There’s nothing malicious in her returning look; she hasn’t been malicious once tonight, even after waking up tied to a chair.

“By taking the boy’s feelings, _you_ would be destroying the town. Ripping away the anchor keeping the spell of protection in place. Why did you think I requested the sacrifice in the first place?”

.-

_The town is literally shredding out of existence around them._

_A coven of witches wishing to harness the power of the Nematon dug too deeply and can’t handle what they unleashed. Beacon Hills is thick with an aura that even the average human can feel, of doom and destruction, getting worse by the hour. People left and right are falling into fits of despair._

_Beacon Hills has seen more suicides in the past three days than it has in the decade before it and, if their research is right, that’s only the first stage. People subconsciously recognizing the horror that’s to come._

_Lydia hasn’t stopped screaming in hours, Scott hasn’t slept since the first wave of despair hit, and Derek’s eyes are hollow and vacant in a way Stiles hasn’t seen since he cleaned Boyd’s blood from his limp hands._

_So when the witch from a rival coven arrives, agreeing to solve the problem as long as one of the group is willing to sacrifice something as petty as an emotion, Stiles barely hesitates before moving forward._

_What the hell does it matter anyway, right? His stupid, hopeless crush... it’s been doing more harm than good. Making him awkward when he doesn’t need to be, stopping him from looking places where he might actually have a chance._

_Him and Derek, fucking hopeless._

_He smiles blandly._

_“Take it.”_

.-

“So there’s no way.” Derek finds himself speaking first, while the rest of the group gape in varying states of shock at the witch. He’s been prepared for this, prepared for it not to work since Stiles first suggested it, since he found himself digging through Deaton’s books for an apathy spell instead of looking up summoning rituals. “The emotion wasn’t just your price; it was a component in the spell.”

Stiles seems more shaken than Derek would have thought. He stumbles another step, eyes on the floor, his next breath coming in sharply. Scott catches his arm.

“Great magic requires a great sacrifice. The boy’s love is holding closed the tear caused by the Nematon. To return it to him would—”

“Put us right back where we were eight months ago.” Derek doesn’t have to look to Scott, Alpha or no, before shaking his head.

The witch seems to be going for sympathy as her brows crease. It reminds Derek painfully of Stiles’ expressions in those rare moments when he looks at Derek and tries to remember a feeling.

“It was a powerful emotion, young wolf. You should feel proud to have inspired it.”

His eyes drag to the right and Stiles is already watching him, expression raw with frustration, with disappointment, with _want_ and for a second Derek can almost convince himself it’s for him. But it’s a secondhand feeling. Stiles _wants_ to want, wants to feel this thing the witch is describing, this emotion clawing bloody streaks in Derek’s chest.

He blinks his eyes closed and keeps them that way, squeezing until he can hear the pressure in his ears, until the dampness in his lashes could just be from the strain.

This wasn’t a surprise. He’d expected this.

Distantly, behind the clenched teeth and the blackness of his lids and his own attempts to clear his thoughts, he hears the witch announce:

“Though it may have been unfair of me to take what I did so quickly. I cannot return what is gone without risk to your town, but I can give you one moment if you’d like. An echo of the emotion. Would you like to say goodbye?”

And Derek’s eyes are open, going wildly from the witch to Stiles.

An echo, a moment, a goodbye.

Stiles smiles, nods.

“Do it.”

.-

The witch rises from the chair as though she’d never been bound at all, touches a finger to Stiles’ forehead, and falls back.

For a second he doesn’t feel anything. Still just the same old Stiles living in his same old Stiles brain. Which is… kind of disappointing, actually. Maybe his love for Derek hadn’t been all that—

 _Derek_.

It hits him all at once, shuddering through him, flooding out across every inch of him. He loses sense of everything outside his emotions, would hit the ground if a pair of arms didn’t catch him. He quakes, gripping at the form desperately, sobbing out a wet, aching breath into the fabric of the shirt.

“Stiles… you ok?”

It’s Scott. Scott he can handle. Scott he can think about without feeling like tiny bits of his soul are dying. His eyes squeeze shut and tears bleed out into the t-shirt and _god_ , he hadn’t realized he’d been so empty before.

“Scott, I don’t… I didn’t know…”

“Stiles,” Scott says softly. “Talk to Derek.”

That’s right. Derek’s in the room. Derek’s not just a feeling in his heart, in his head, racing through him and leaving him weak, desperate, terrified. He’s _here._

And his eyes are shooting back open because who knows how long he has, how long the ‘echo’ bouncing around inside of him will last, and pushes shakily back from his friend’s chest, scanning the room for…

“Derek.”

He’s standing about eight feet away, isolated from everyone else, shoulders drawn in and jaw tight, looking so scared and hurt and _hopeful_. It’s enough to wrench another sob out of Stiles, a thousand words clawing at his throat. All that comes out, thick and broken, again, is “ _Derek._ ”

He’s moving forward without thinking about it, stumbling the five endless steps to reach him.

And he’d never said anything, never done _anything_ when it really mattered. When he’d still really felt this. Why the hell had he wasted all that time? Why had they both?

He’d never kissed Derek like he was his whole world, never gripped him close and taken comfort in his warmth, never told him how much he matters and how much he deserves to be happy… and now Derek’s looking at Stiles like he’s terrified of him, like he might run away if he weren’t too paralyzed to move, and when Stiles throws his arms around him he’s so tense. Trembling. He doesn’t move to return the embrace and…

Damn it, this is all wrong. Derek’s held onto him before, Derek’s kissed him and breathed longing words into his skin and he _remembers_ it, remembers it enough that his legs feel weak with the need for it. But now it matters, now it means everything, and Derek’s gone cold.

It’s Stiles’ turn.

“I love you. I do… Derek I-I…” That's as far as he gets before he breaks off. A tear falls onto Derek’s neck and he kisses it, wet and messy, sniffing hard and drawing back fast.

He’s a wreck. Sobbing, his eyes puffing up and, great, he has who knows how many more seconds of caring what Derek thinks of him and he’s gonna spend them a blubbering mess? He sucks in a hitching breath and feels Derek’s arms tentatively close around him.

It’s like they’ve never touched before. When Derek’s face dips to bury in his neck he shivers harder. His whole body’s quaking now, eight months of emotional catch up and _guilt_ , god, the guilt…

“Shh,” Derek’s breathing against him, hand going to cup his neck, still so tentative, like this is a dream that’ll disappear if he holds it too hard.

And it will. Fuck, it _will_. What the hell had Stiles agreed to?

“This isn’t fair. God, I’m such a dick, I shouldn’t have said yes. I’ll be fine in five minutes and you’ll be—”

“I love you.”

Stiles cuts off, jerking backward to stare. Derek lifts his head, and his eyes are wet too, red-rimmed and watery.

Stiles’ throat catches. It’s _beautiful_.

“You’ve never said that. I mean, I knew, but you never…”

Derek’s lips press together, part again. His eyes are still so scared, scared and sincere.

“I wasn’t going to say it when it didn’t matter. Now I had a chance to.”

Stiles’ hands lift to clutch Derek’s face, thumbs trailing across those open features: soft and honest and... _love._ Now he knows what it feels like to be loved.

To love back.

“I am so sorry.”

Derek leans in. His lips brush Stiles’ cheek, kissing away a fresh tear, and Stiles’ eyes flutter. He doesn’t let them close, though. He needs to see every second of this.

“I love you.”

They blurt it together, tripping over the words in a rush to get them out. Like it’s the most important thing in the world, like it’s all that matters.

And Stiles _does_ have a thousand other things to say – how Derek has to move on, how he shouldn’t let anyone treat him the way Stiles has been treating him. How he deserves so much more, and Stiles is so sorry, and he just wants to stay here, hold onto this forever.

“I _love_ you.”

His lips brush Derek’s now, just barely, and they both stop to gasp at the sheer sensation of it, and

“ _I_ love you.”

Kissing deeper, slower than Stiles has ever let them move before. All slowly dragging tongues, aching emotion and silent promises of forever that neither of them can keep. He doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t know how much time passes before they’re forced to break away, gasping for air and

“I love _you_. I love you, Derek. My love’s holding a whole fucking town together, you understand that? You do that to me. You have no idea…” His cheeks are sticky, salty with tears that could come from either of them because Derek’s gasping in a harsh breath and dragging their cheeks together like he needs to feel literally everything in this moment.

It’s familiar, the stubble on his skin, the rough, raw heat of the contact, but it’s never been this good before. It’s never _meant_ this much before.

And Derek’s voice is a low rasp of raw emotion as he breathes “I know, I know. Stiles, I—”

They’re kissing again and it’s faster this time, desperate and urgent because any second now this will be gone, and he needs to make sure Derek _feels_ it. Needs to kiss him so hard it reverberates through him, so it touches each piece of his stupid, self-deprecating soul. So he remembers when all this is wrenched away again that he was loved, that he deserves to be loved.

It’s hard and it’s messy, and it’s broken by both of them gasping hitching breaths into it… and Derek’s actually crying for him. Near-silent, hitching sobs that shudder through both of their bodies and Derek _loves_ him.

Derek loves him.

He’s known it for months and he’s never once appreciated how amazing that is. It shouldn’t be possible, after everything Derek’s gone through. After his nightmare of a life, every time he’s been lied to and hurt and abandoned, after all he’s lost… it should take a miracle to let Derek love. It should take something so special, someone strong and worthy and beautiful… but somehow he has it in him to love Stiles.

Stupid, impulsive Stiles who wished his love away without a second thought.

“You deserve better,” he breathes as they stop again for air. He presses their foreheads together, looking into those golden-green eyes and watching the colors shift and blend through the tears. Derek’s clutching his waist and caressing a hand down his nape and he’s never felt safer, more grounded, in his life. How can this feeling ever go away? How can there ever be a moment when this isn’t _everything_?

“I deserve _you,_ ” Derek growls back. Stiles’ lips twitch. Derek just admitted he deserves something and _damn_ , if that’s not progress, he doesn’t know what is.

Kissing therapy. That should so be a thing.

He presses in slow and soft against Derek’s lips, and hears a quiet, contented noise that could’ve come from either one of them.

“Yeah, you do.” He draws back, grinning dazedly, trailing his fingers down Derek’s face. “You deserve happy. I’d make you so goddamn happy, Derek.”

A tear catches in Derek’s eyelashes and hangs there, impossibly suspended. The lashes are so thin, so fragile; they shouldn’t hold all that weight.

He watches the teardrop until Derek leans in and brushes their noses together. It’s sweet and a little bit sexy, and the most adorable thing that’s ever happened in Stiles’ life.

“Derek Hale. Did you just Eskimo kiss me?”

Derek’s brows scrunch together, and that right there's definitely the second cutest. Bunnies and baby puppies just gotta make way for the unholy adorableness that is Derek Hale.

“It’s not… it’s a wolf thing, alright? Nuzzling.” But Derek’s lips are twitching.

“Oh yeah, sure. Big Bad Wolf with his tough Eskimo kisses. Sticking the wolf label on something doesn’t cover up the cuteness.”

“You think I’m _cute_?”

Stiles laughs and the choked, guilty feeling in his chest loosens. He can almost pretend they’re just hanging out together in Derek’s loft, not surrounded by staring friends and a witch who’s just counting down the seconds until she can tear all this away again.

Can pretend that he’s anything more than just an echo right now.

His hands clench nervously, but he manages to keep his expression steady and light. He’s going to hold onto this, damn it.

He’s going to give Derek this memory.

“I think you possess the capacity for cuteness, yes. And I’d really enjoy you being cute again.”

Derek drifts in closer, brushes the tips of their noses together, and then rolls in close and proceeds to kiss Stiles so thoroughly he loses track of his legs. Thank god Derek’s holding him up or he’d be splayed out on the ground like a Stiles-shaped welcome mat, some kind of cheesy greeting for broody werewolves with a wicked tongue and a fondness for Eskimo kisses stamped across his chest.

“Or not cute,” he gasps when Derek finally pulls back, rubbing their noses together firmly for good measure. “Not cute’s really good too.”

Derek smiles, but it seems like an effort suddenly. His eyes flit away toward the witch, and he’s going guarded again, like he’s just remembered how close this is to ending.

Stiles knows he’s terrified of the deadline, possibly more than any second after. That moment when he’s still holding onto Stiles, still open and vulnerable, and Stiles just stops caring.

He silently swears to himself that he won’t go stiff suddenly, that he’ll stay loose against Derek and let them ease out of it, _do you hear that, emotionally stunted future self_? Derek deserves that much. A second to recover, to compose himself, to reset the walls Stiles would do anything to tear down permanently.

And Stiles feels a flutter of panic too. He needs to say his Important Things, and gets as far as “Derek, when this is… don’t let me…” before Derek cuts him off with a firm headshake and a fresh kiss. Stiles groans into it, faint and needy.

“I’m going to hold onto every second of this,” Derek breathes when their lips break. He goes to kiss Stiles’ ear, biting soft nips across the shell. “I don’t want to remember you worrying.”

And Stiles’ head lolls to the side, mouth hanging open to gulp in enough air, but he can’t let Derek distract him. His fingers scrape down Derek’s rough cheek and he turns again, slowly, catching Derek’s eyes.

“Well tough, big guy. I’m gonna worry. That’s what love is.”

His heart breaks a little when Derek’s lip trembles.

Derek’s been hurt enough, damn it. Stiles should be here to look out for him, to keep him safe. But since that's not possible, best friend tag team will have to do. He clears his throat.

“Scott, buddy. You listening?”

Scott’s voice floats over, high and embarrassed.

“Uh… kinda can’t help it, dude.”

“Good. Ok, listen: don’t you fucking dare let me mess with Derek anymore, got it? I give you full permission to threaten, blackmail, or body-check me into being less of a douche.”

Because he won’t want to stop. He knows himself enough to know that. He’ll remember how amazing everything in this moment feels. He’ll hold it up as a template for every future relationship, hold up Derek’s devotion and the way they feel curled around each other right now and the way his heart’s aching with a desperation bordering on panic for it never to end. And he’ll come back to Derek looking to feel it again, to recapture some small fraction of it, every time another relationship falls short.

And how can they not fall short? How can any new relationship be measured against this slowly built bond between him and Derek? The years of circling, fearing and wanting and loathing and learning to trust, learning to care… And you know what, maybe Stiles _does_ believe in true love just a little bit, and if it’s out there, Derek’s his. No future substitutes will fit the bill.

“ _Scott._ ” He needs to hear it. Especially because Derek’s already shaking his head like he’s disagreeing, like he knows he’ll come back and take whatever small shred of Stiles he can get.

“Yeah, yes Stiles. I promise.”

Stiles nods. He knows he can trust that. Scott’s promises are golden.

But the look in Derek’s eyes is scaring him.

“Hey,” He runs a hand down his cheek, down the line of his neck. “Derek, you promise me too, ok? You love me, then you listen to me. You said you deserve me, right? Well that guy you’ve been with? He’s not me. At least when it comes to you. And you deserve someone who loves you like I do.”

He leans forward until their foreheads touch again, trails a hand down until it’s hovering over Derek’s heart, until he can hear it pounding fast into his palm.

“Don’t insult what we have here by going back to that guy.”

Derek lets out a small, broken sound and tries to smother it in a new kiss, and Stiles grips his neck and holds his gaze and—

“Oh, let the town burn, I say.”

The new voice falls on the room like a physical weight. Stiles knows the exact instant when Derek registers what he’s heard from the way his eyes flare blue from pure shock, how he clenches Stiles hard before going frighteningly limp against him.

If Stiles weren’t holding him, he would’ve stumbled.

It’s Malia who speaks up first, tentative.

“Peter?”

Stiles looks toward the loft doorway, frowning. Everyone else is doing more of a gaping fish impression as the man in question spares a brief smile for his estranged daughter before turning a more self-satisfied smirk toward Derek.

“What did I tell you, nephew? Human love. It sparks spells, it guards cities.”

Derek swallows, and Stiles trails a soothing hand down his side.

“How are you…”

“Alive? I’m more surprised that you believed I was dead. You should have more faith in me than that by now.” And then he’s strolling into the loft, nodding at Scott, sparing a too-toothy grin for Lydia, before landing his gaze on the witch.

“Well, if you all aren’t willing to allow Beacon Hills to collapse as a testament to your love, I suppose we’ll have to make another trade instead.”

Stiles spares a glance toward Derek, but Derek’s eyes are locked on Peter. And Stiles feels a sudden flash of resentment because they have all of who knows how many seconds left, and Peter couldn’t have waited until his echo faded out to make his stupid grand entrance?

He burrows his forehead against Derek’s neck, and feels Derek’s fingers stroke, fast and soothing, across his nape.

The witch narrows her eyes thoughtfully but Derek’s the one who speaks up, voice barely a growl.

“What other trade?”

Peter smiles, light and wry.

“I was never much cut out for family, Derek. Honestly, do you have any idea how much looking after you require? But free me of my ties and I’ll be able to go on with my life without the nagging urge to check up on you constantly.”

Stiles’ head shoots up so sharply it almost slams into Derek’s jaw. He can’t seriously mean that…

Derek’s back to gripping Stiles hard, like he needs the help to stand. His gaze flits to Malia, then back to his uncle.

“The spell… the most important thing… The thing you love most is yourself.”

White teeth flash.

“That might be true, but that doesn’t preclude a bargain. You must learn not to always take things at face value, Derek.” He glances back to the witch. “Both of them, will that do?”

She tilts her head, stares at him, through him.

_Both of them._

“I think it might.”

“ _No,_ ” Derek snaps, falling away from Stiles, taking a sharp step forward. He’s looking at Peter like he’s never seen him before. At the other edge of the room, Lydia moves smoothly to Malia’s side, linking their arms. Malia glances down, then back up quickly, seeming startled. Stiles feels unbalanced, standing on his own again, and Peter looks his way, eyes dancing.

“Would you rather lose your boy again, Derek?” Derek’s grasping Stiles’ arm in an instant, tugging him forward until he can feel Derek’s heat against his side. “I thought not.”

Stiles feels a fresh wave of joy that Derek cares, and then second, rolling wave of irritation at being led around. At the _clinginess_ of it. He blinks, shakes his head, finds himself clutching Derek’s shoulder like an anchor.

“Derek…”

“The echo’s fading.” This from the witch, and Derek’s hand moves from Stiles’ arm to his waist, tugging him closer. “A replacement sacrifice could be arranged, as long as it’s something the bearer finds truly precious.”

“He doesn’t.” Derek’s lips thin. Then to Peter. “You don’t.”

“He does,” Stiles finds himself breathing. “He tracked down the witch for us.”

Derek’s eyes go to Stiles – confused, wounded, disbelieving.

“Then… he tracked her down for himself. He wanted to make this deal.”

Stiles glances to Peter.

“Well, yeah. Two birds, right?”

And Peter inclines his head.

“And that’s why my nephew needs you.”

Pride. _Suffocation_.

It isn’t happening the same way this time around, the emotions washing in and out as the echo slowly fades from him. He whimpers, throat tight. He doesn’t want to go back to the way he was, doesn’t want to lose this.

But Peter is Derek’s _family_. His last tie to his childhood. He’d been so broken when Peter died that he’d fallen into Stiles’ arms even when he’d known better.

Stiles can’t be selfish with Derek.

“He needs you too.” But Peter just rolls his eyes.

“I’ve given you all months to adjust to my untimely demise. You seem to have dealt well enough with life without me. Now, stop arguing and allow us all to get what we want.” Derek makes a soft noise of protest, muscles jumping in that way they do when he’s about to dive into trouble headfirst, make some big, stupid heroic sacrifice. And Stiles’ heart clenches because he couldn’t take that. He couldn’t take it if he was on the other side of this, if Derek started looking at him with blank eyes, like he barely existed.

Assuming he'd be Derek's sacrifice.

But Peter beats Derek to it, catching his gaze, eyes flashing blue, teeth baring warningly.

“I _want_ this freedom, Derek. After six years in a hospital, skin peeling, mind lost in a haze of burning and the screams of my dying family… I want to leave this town in the dust and never look back. Do you understand?”

Derek just stares, but when Peter turns back to the witch, he doesn’t move to stop him.

“Now, I want it to be them, you understand me? I don’t want to find myself giving up my cleansing regime or turning into a clumsy-tongued simpleton.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“And the boy?”

“Your sacrifice will replace his. He will be as he was before he surrendered it, as he is now.”

At the other edge of the room, Malia is pulling free from Lydia’s grip, stepping forward.

“That’s… me. One of ‘them,’ is that me?” She sounds wary, unsure. Peter’s eyes close briefly before he turns back to face her.

“You barely had a chance to know me, child. You don’t understand the bullet you’re dodging.”

She presses her lips together, scanning his face. Takes several more steps, and leans in to kiss her father’s cheek.

“I don’t believe that.”

And then she’s turning away, moving back to huddle beside Kira at the edge of Derek’s bed.

Derek’s breaths are coming out sharp and fast, nostrils flaring with each one. The witch starts to lift her hand and he spits out sharply, “ _Peter._ ”

The witch pauses, Peter turns. Derek’s still gripping Stiles like a lifeline, but he shifts slightly in his grip, nervous and unsure. His mouth opens, closes, before:

“I forgive you.”

Peter’s brows go up.

“I don’t know if it’s even possible for you to mean that, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll treasure it fondly for the next several seconds.”

He turns expectantly back to the witch, and she lifts a hand.

.-

Peter’s gone ten minutes later. He smirks, his eyes lighter than Stiles has ever seen them as they slide past Derek and Malia. His sacrifices. He leaves behind instructions that if they’re ever in _dire_ need of his services, to have Lydia be the one to call.

Though as adamant as he was to leave Beacon Hills behind him forever, Stiles thinks he’ll probably veto any attempts to contact the man again.

What? He’s definitely got veto rights. Not only is he the Alpha’s best friend, he’s the former Alpha’s boyfriend.

He’s Derek Hale’s boyfriend. Derek Hale is _his_ boyfriend. And that thought’s never going to stop bringing a dopey grin to his face, and he’s 100% ok with that.

He changes all of his passwords to “Derek” because he knows it would make Peter’s eyes roll, and then he changes them to something Marvel-related a week later when the next movie trailer comes out.

They spend lazy afternoons lounging in each others’ arms, and way too many nights making out in Stiles’ Jeep even though they’ve got a perfectly good loft handy because “I’ve had fantasies about this since you were bleeding black goo on my seats, ok?” and Derek’s a wonderful jerk who rolls his eyes like it’s a huge inconvenience and indulges him.

And when they tell his dad, just a few days after everything, he just sighs, says “it’s about time” and drags Derek away for long, private “I own a gun and I’ve got access to wolfsbane” talk that Derek comes out of looking more flattered than anything.

And they’re in love. With each other. At the same time. And they both know about it.

And enemies attack and werewolves try to take their territory and Lydia’s powers keep developing in new and creepy ways and Kira starts getting _tails_ of all things but…

They have each other.

Basically, things are perfect.

.-

He finds Derek outside the burnt-out Hale house one day, staring at the makeshift grave he’d made for Peter almost a year back. Stiles leans against him and Derek loops an arm around his waist without thinking about it, like it's the most natural thing in the world, like they’ve been doing it for years.

Stiles takes a few seconds to savor the ease of it all, before breathing “You miss him?”

Derek shakes his head, expression quiet, unreadable.

“I keep waiting for the spell to fail.”

Of course he does. Derek can never just sit back and take his happiness... but that's ok, because Stiles loves forcing him to deal with it.

Stiles leans down to press a kiss into Derek’s shoulder.

“Hey, he cared about you as much as he knew how. Cared so much he ran a long con to get rid of the feelings.” A second kiss into his neck, savoring the way Derek’s next breath drags out a little deeper, steadier. “He waited half a year to make sure you’d be ok without him.” Nipping at his jaw. “He checked me out first to make sure I’d be _worthy_ of you.” And then he's leaning in, stopping to hover a breath away from Derek's mouth, grinning. “You know, this town only still exists because of two people’s love for you.”

Which is pretty awesome, all things considered. Physical proof, no way Derek can deny it.

Derek’s eyes are soft and light as he leans in to brush their lips together.

“Mine would hold the state together.”

“Yeah, big guy? How about the country?”

Derek's lips go to his ear, hands heavy on his hips.

“The world, Stiles. For you.”

And Stiles smothers a grin in a long and slow kiss, promises of forever neither of them know if they can keep... but they both intend to try.

“Let's just hold the world in one piece together.”

Derek smiles.

"Fair enough."

Because some things have too high a price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, guys! Got a little cheese-tastic at the end, but I think we all deserved it after all the misery our boys had getting here. I hope you all enjoyed this journey that ended up being four chapters longer than I originally intended.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, loves. And come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://halekingsourwolf.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> [Come find me on Tumblr](http://halekingsourwolf.tumblr.com)


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